


Parlez-Moi d'Amour

by GrimLegate



Series: Requiems For Tomorrow [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 'Matchmaking', And Also is in Love, Charibert de Leusignac - Freeform, Courtship, Dealing With Your Problems, Family, Haurchefant is Completely Head Over Heels, Little Snippets of Angst, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi-Classed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mutual Pining, Pining, Religious Tones, Ser Charibert (Final Fantasy XIV), Slow Burn, Tags and Characters to be added, Warrior of Light is Oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimLegate/pseuds/GrimLegate
Summary: “Jealous. I would be jealous. I would not want for another to be the object of his affection.” Fury take him, it sounded so ugly to admit his feelings aloud. He coveted the other, thought fondly of those moments where they had squirreled themselves away where the woes of their statuses could not find them. He could not imagine sharing them with another in good faith. Edmont gave a knowing smile, pushing himself up off of his cane and walking over to Haurcehfant.“To love another… it is a terrible burden indeed."-or-Everyone sees fit to interfere in Haurchefant's love life while he attempts to woo the Warrior of Light, who hasn't the slightest clue in the world as to what's going on.





	1. Fatherly Advice

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you wondering, this story ends before that part in Heavensward (which, if you've gotten there, you know.) depending on the reception I may do an additionally NSFW chapter, along with a special chapter involving some angst.  
That being said, this is a happy fic! With a happy ending! Please enjoy!

It takes all of the willpower within him to fight off the urge to sweep the other into his arms, to comfort and calm and care for the man before him, who shudders and shakes as he tries to find what little remaining warmth he has to offer. Even with the Warrior’s unusual resilience to the cold, he rubs roughly at his furred ears, to coax some feeling back into them. He looks _exhausted_, they all do, the trio wearing mottled bruises under their eyes, each varying between the three.

The miqo’te sinks into the furred collar of his coat, puffing air through the fur to line his face with heat, and he wonders for a moment if the other would take offense to an offer to share in his warmth. He chides himself for the thought, knowing that such an incentive was not a wholly altruistic one. Haurchefant must wear a concerned expression on his face, because when the other catches his gaze, it is all he can do to offer a reassuring smile. It looks so tired, but the gentle crinkle at the corner of his eyes, and the gentle downward tug of his ears nearly stops his heart in his chest.

It is such a pure thing, he thinks. Soft and familiar, it is the look that he has given the knight so many times over, when he pulls him in from the frigid outside to coax stories and woes from his lips with bribery – more oft than not in the form of hot chocolate. Holding his eye, the man parts his lips, and the barest hint of his voice meets the air before the creaking of the door to the foyer opens.

“Father.” Haurchefant greets, giving the tiniest nod of his head as the man turns to the small group that had ceased their hurried attempts to warm themselves. He has another debt to pay to the man who has given him all that he could and more, he thinks, when he remembers quite clearly why the three are there in the first place.

_Wards of House Fortemps._

Should the circumstances of their visit be different, Haurchefant would be overjoyed to seize the opportunity to walk the Warrior through some of his oldest haunts, to show him the beauty of the home that he loved so dearly. And though they are all hale and whole, he reminds himself of the grim reality that brought them here. It pains him to no end, to remember the harried expression the other wore as he stumbled into Camp Dragonhead, bearing lacerations and bruising from the rough hands that had bound him, to make him pay for a crime that he did not commit.

It is Alphinaud that does most of the talking, though that is not unusual. He all but prostrates himself before his father in an attempt to show him his gratitude but Count Edmont waves him off. He off-handedly remarks that it was Haurchefant’s glowing approval of the three that had gotten them there, and Rhitaas shoots the man in question a playful cock of his brow. He beams a smile back at the other, playing it off as though he had _no_ idea what the other was suggesting, and his heart is happy as the other fights to stifle a tiny giggle.

His father follows the look, and though the smile pulls at the weathered lines of his face, there is something genuine beneath the surface. He turns back to the three, welcoming them into his home and offering up to them whatever they may need in their stay. Alphinaud, not to be outdone by their gracious host, promises to aid House Fortemps whenever the need should arise. His father strokes his chin, in what Haurchefant has come to learn is him making a show out of mulling over the thought before nodding.

“I believe my sons would appreciate someone accompanying them on errands they have been asked of,” He motions to Artoirel and Emmanellain at his side. They both nod as the Scions eyes meet theirs, and his father continues on. “but I would not bid you to jump straight into the unknown just yet. Pray, take a tour of our city, and when you return, we shall have a warm meal, baths, and beds for you all.” Haurchefant perked up, and the suggestion that _he_ would show them around Ishgard died upon his lips as his father motioned for one of his servants. He does not argue however, as Alphinaud and the others bow and take their leave.

His brothers follow suit, each of them returning to attend to their own duties, leaving just him and his father within the foyer. He bows for a brief moment, a sentiment about returning to his own post on his lips, before his father cuts him off.

“So, when am I to expect the ceremony?”

Haurchefant blinks owlishly at the man, brow furrowed in confusion, wholly unsure of what the man meant. Edmont simply shakes his head, motioning to the door. “I am not quite so old that my eyes have begun to deceive me. And even if I were blind, I could still tell you are quite enamored with him.”

His words take a moment to register in the knight’s ears, and once they do, his face burns across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. He bumbles his way through a half-hearted refute, the hand-wave and hearty laughter from his father silencing him.

“Do not mistake my words for displeasure. If what you have told me is true, then this ‘hope incarnate’ seems like a fine young man. Pray, tell me, did you woo him over a cup of your hot cocoa?” He teases, expecting his son to sheepishly smirk, and to recount to him the tentative steps that they had first taken over their newfound relationship. What he gets, instead, is Haurchefant refusing to meet his eye, lifting his hand to rub at his neck awkwardly. Edmont pauses for a moment, scrunching his brows as he begins to piece everything together.

“You have yet to tell him, I see.”

“I… I have not, no.” Edmont motions for him to sit across for him, and so he does, thankful for the small reprieve it gives him. His father’s gaze is prying, and so he clears his throat to give him a moment to think of a way to defend himself. “He is… he is the _Warrior of Light_. I would not think that he would have the time to burden himself with another’s feelings. He already has so much to deal with, I would not add to the strain that is constantly upon his shoulders.”

“A grand title surely, but if he is truly lionized as you have told me, would you not think that such a lofty presence would leave him alienated? Lonely?” He leans forward, the blue of his eyes that Haurchefant shares bright with a gentle regard. “He looks at you kindly, my son. They just may be sentiments that he shares.”

Haurchefant chews his lip, uncertain for but a moment, before sighing. There is wisdom in his father’s words. It places a burden upon his heart to know, _yes_, he _is_ quite lonely. The other had admitted such, on a dark night when he had pulled Rhitaas in from the blizzard, quite nearly begging him to take a moment to shelter himself before he went off on his next venture.

“I know he desires companionship, especially now that his already meager group has shrunk considerably… But, with his pure heart and sweet face,” He flushes at his admission, and a twinkle of humor touches Edmont’s face at his son’s openness. “I know there are plenty out there that mean to catch his eye. I will not chase him as they might – I would rather offer him friendship in these most dire times.”

A look glances over Edmont’s face, and Haurchefant can tell his is beginning to grow tired and irritated that his words are not getting through to him. The man sighs, placing his hands upon his knees and looking his son square in the eyes.

“And, what if, the next time you saw him, he, in good faith, grew doe-eyed and told you of his love for another? How would you feel?”

“I would… tell him I was glad for him, that he was taking a moment for his happiness.”

Edmont shook his head, his nose wrinkling at the answer. He waved his hand irately, and the flame that had been lit within his eyes brooked no room for deceit.

“I asked not for what you would tell him – how would you _feel_?”

And Haurchefant is silent for a moment, simply imagining Rhitaas sharing that same warm smile, with all the care and gentleness with which he gave him, with another. It was enough to twitch his hand into a fist, an ugly emotion rearing its head and churning inside of his belly. It sends a rush of warmth to his face, as he chews his inner cheek. When he meets his father’s eye, he finds the other’s brow cocked, waiting for his answer.

“Jealous. I would be jealous. I would not want for another to be the object of his affection.” Fury take him, it sounded so _ugly_ to admit his feelings aloud. He coveted the other, thought fondly of those moments where they had squirreled themselves away where the woes of their statuses could not find them. He could not imagine sharing them with another in good faith. Edmont gave a knowing smile, pushing himself up off of his cane and walking over to Haurcehfant.

“To love another… it is a terrible burden indeed. Those feelings you harbor, the words you wish to tell them ignite a fire within your chest.” The rich leather of his glove rests upon Haurchefants shoulder, and the elezen looks up into the mournful gaze of his father. “That love, the longer you hold onto it, will become like poison in your mouth, until you cannot bear to hold onto it any longer. And sometimes – it may come too late.”

He understood now, what his father was trying to impart onto him. The follies of a young man, proud and eager to live, to love, to find happiness as the days continued to march on. He had blamed his father often, when he was younger. Now, he could see that what he had done had come from a profound love, a love for his mother, and for the bright-eyed son that reminded him of her every day Edmont saw him.

“Regret does not suit you, my son. We live in a world fraught with perils, and you should cherish every moment that you may have with him. Only the Fury knows what the next day may have in store, and so it falls to us to live as though every day may be our last.” There is wisdom in his words, and so Haurchefant nods.

“I understand… yet, there is one thing I am still at a loss for.”

The look Edmont gives him can only be withering, but Haurchefant gives a nervous chuckle, the blush returning to his cheeks as he looks up at the other.

“For all this talk has shown me, I am still at a loss for how I may show him my affection. Contrary to what the houses may think of me, I have not spent my days at Camp Dragonhead as a bachelor, having countless adventurer’s warming my bed.”

Edmont’s eyes widen for a moment, before the rich laughter from deep in his belly splits the air. Haurchefant cannot help but laugh along with him, knowing full well that the other was not being unkind as he laughed. His father wipes the corner of his eye, sighing while he recovers.

“I thought you were about to debate me in circles once again, I fear I would have pulled my hair out by the time I was done with you.” He slaps his son on his back, shaking his head with a smile. “The secret? Be chivalrous; be kind and honest, put yourself at his disposal.”

“That’s it? Will that really work?”

Edmont has what Haurchefant can only describe as a mischievous smile upon his lips, as he turns from his son to head to the door. He hums thoughtfully for a moment, and without missing a beat throws one last look over his shoulder.

“You are here, are you not?”


	2. Brotherly Enlightenment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, nothing made me happier than when we got to see Emmanellain get absolutely decked. I just wish it was done by the WoL. Now, he's the one giving Haurchefant some (misguided) advice on how to go about courting the Warrior.

Haurchefant knows not whether to laugh or be embarrassed, his mind opting for both at the same time. He shakes his head, smiling as he wrings his hands, slowly running his thumbs over one another as he tries to think. After all, Rhitaas soon would be back from their group’s tour throughout the city. He wonders if an offer to wash his back would go remiss, he can only assume that washing through the thick fur of his tail and ears would be a hassle on its own.

It is this train of thought, that raises the heat of his face once again with the images his mind so _un_helpfully procures, that distracts him so thoroughly. It is only when the other is upon him, those long black locks falling into Haurchefant’s line of sight that shocks him from his thoughts. Emmanellain grins nearly ear to ear as he leans back, crossing his arms in front of his chest while he looks down at his elder brother.

“_Soooo_,” the other croons, and a prickling unease creeps up the base of the other’s neck. He cocks a brow, leaning further back into the chair as he waits for the other to continue making an ass of himself. “A little birdie told me you were having trouble with your little love~.”

“So, you were spying on Father and I.”

“_A little birdie – “_

“So, you had _Honoroit_ spy on Father and I.”

Emmanellain pouts, puffing out his cheeks and folding his arms tightly against his chest. It is a bad habit, and Haurchefant is very well aware that the other understands this, but he feels the need to stick his nose where it doesn’t necessarily belong. Emmanellain was still stood there, slowly becoming more and more red in the face after having been caught in the act. Haurchefant had half a mind to send him away, before remembering the small little fact he had been made privy to in his father’s complaints.

Emmanellain was a _shameless_ flirt, and known for having been seen with multiple women, each on separate occasions. It was something both Artoirel and Edmont had lamented over numerous times, considering how often the other seemed to get into trouble from his incompetence. But, Haurchefant wondered if there was some method to the other’s madness. Looking up back to the younger, the steady red that creeped across his face made him doubtful, but if the other had some advice he was at least willing to hear him out.

“Then what would you suggest that I do?” The moment the words left his lips, Emmanellain’s face brightened considerably, and he spun on his heel to strike a (what he imagined was a) striking pose. He rested his chin in the crook of his thumb while he hummed.

“Dear Haurchefant – you must spare no expense! They will be at the Manor tonight, so splurge! I’m quite fond of breaking open the finest vintage, so that they know in my eyes they are simply _priceless_!” The other continued waxing on and on about the proper way of going about inviting someone to dinner, but Haurchefant slowly but surely began to tune the other out.

There was some credence lending to his words, while the knight thought of dinner for the pair. After all, he knew that the other would be tired, and it was far too late to expect to get a reservation at anywhere too fancy. Dining in then, he thought, standing up and knocking the younger elezen out of his tirade.

“Thank you, Emmanellain – but I fear if I do not start gathering some things that my planned dinner will be woefully underwhelming.” The other looks as though he will keep going but favors instead wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulder, grinning widely.

“Anytime, old boy – are you in need of an assistant? I’m sure Honoroit would be more than happy to help!”

“Thank you, but… I do not think that will be necessary.” He had already begun to make a mental list in his head. There were a few things that he was uncertain on the details of, but he figured he knew enough about the other that he had a pretty good guess as to what to get.

It was just the finer details, after all, the servants of House Fortemps would be cooking the lion’s share of the dinner, it was just up to him to put the finishing touches on it.

* * *

He was thankful for his father’s servants, seeing as how he had little to do but to tidy up his room before dinner. He had hauled in a chair for the other, the elezen bustling back and forth as he tried to make sure everything looked the part. He had forgone his usual armor in favor of a light button-down and an overcoat.

He glanced over the cloches on the table, humming to himself and pressing the back of his hand against the top. They had only just been ferried in, and the heat radiating off of them made him partially melt. Now, he was just waiting on his guest, who, if he guessed correctly, should be done dressing any moment now. He was honestly thankful that the three had decided to bathe before eating, considering Haurchefant had still been running around Ishgard trying to get everything on his list.

The knock at the door quite nearly startled him, and it was only once the sound, and the implicit meaning behind it, registered that he perked up considerably. He took one last look at the table, making sure nothing had miraculously fallen out of place in the two seconds he had his back turned to the table, before making his way over to the door.

That small, gentle smile that greeted him from behind the door warmed Haurchefant to his core, and he stepped aside to let the other in. He was dressed plainly, in clean cut and freshly pressed traveling clothes. It was certainly nothing so refined as most Ishgardian’s wardrobes, but it was warm, and fresh, and he was certain that that was all that the other cared for. His ears and tail had mostly dried, but he could see a few spots that had stubbornly refused to dry, and the elezen could not help but laugh. After all, he had seen the other completely drenched, and to say that he looked like a drowned… well, _cat_, was certainly a fair statement.

“And, what, mayhap,” Rhitaas began, a quirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “would you find so funny, Haurche?” The man couldn’t help the small flush that spread across his cheeks. He simply smiled, biting down the simple melancholy that he had yet to come up with a nickname for the miqo’te.

“I was suddenly stricken with the memory of having to aid you while you were soaked to the bone from _falling_ into a river near the Observatorium.”

“I didn’t fall!” The Warrior squawked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and huffing. “Vogel saw fit to pick that exact moment to make her ire _quite _known to me and anyone nearby from how loud I screamed. It was _cold!”_ Haurchefant couldn’t help but chuckle at the other’s expense, especially when he saw the other’s smile.

“And what had happened to cause such a drastic change in such a gentle creature’s behavior?” Normally, the purple chocobo was a darling, one who was often fond of the scritches that the elezen would gift to her when her master left her in his care.

“I had forgotten to give her a treat after the last time we trained and forgot about it before we had left that morning.”

“Smart bird.”

“Unfortunately – I believe her to be smarter than I. Sometimes.” The two of them laughed, and Haurchefant could not deny the comment. He has housed the bird multiple times at Camp Dragonhead, and the amount of times that she had outsmarted some of the guards had been frequent enough that he had decided to put her under his direct care. She had even managed to pull the wool over his own eyes a few times, having to come up with more and more tricks as time marched on.

“I remember, in the wake of you leaving for Stone Vigil, Alphinaud devised a rather devious means to entertain himself.” Haurchefant moved to the other side of the table to pull out Rhitaas’ seat, which he took gratefully, jumping a bit once Haurchefant pushed him in.

“Oh? Do tell – I do not believe I’ve heard _this_ story.”

“Oh, yes,” Haurchefant settled in his seat, chuckling to himself. “The young master thought himself clever, betting two-thousand gil to any knight who could stay atop Vogel while you were away.” Yes, Vogel was clever, so clever, in fact – that there was not a soul on Hydaelyn who could ride the chocobo without her, or her master’s permission. And so, for nearly a solid two hours, he watched from his window as many a knight attempted to get astride the bird.

“She started off by immediately throwing them off, and then, she became wise to the game, and allowed them to get into the saddle, find themselves situated… before she began bucking and running my men at the battlements.” Rhitaas found himself laughing, knowing that every word was true. His chocobo was a particular little thing, and it was the reason that he was perfectly fine with leaving her unhitched, knowing full well little would move her without his word.

“I had been wondering about the looks she would receive around camp – I see my mount’s reputation may begin to outstrip my own.” He chuckled, and that humor that sparkled in his eyes nearly made Haurchefant’s mouth go dry. It took him all but a moment to recover his thoughts, motioning to the plates before them, pulling the cloche off each.

“Here, I can only imagine how hungry you are – please, enjoy yourself.” He reached out to the small stand beside the table filled with ice. Rhitaas watched the other intently for a moment, a cocked brow and the flicking of the tip of his tail made his curiosity plain for the other to see. Haurchefant caught the stare as he was reached for the glasses he had set out, simply smiling. “I decided to get something special for the occasion.” He popped the cork from the bottle, watching the burgundy liquid swirl around before settling as he passed the other his glass.

Rhitaas’ ears flicked, bringing the glass to his nose, sniffing it. He wrinkled his nose for all but a moment, before humming. “What is it?”

“Mulled wine, I had thought to serve it warm, but I find it is a little more agreeable chilled the first time you try it.” Haurchefant didn’t drink all that often, but there was certainly nothing wrong with relaxing with a glass or two at the end of nights like these, one with no obligations pulling him in separate directions. When the elezen took his sip, he watched as Rhitaas followed suit, his ears perking up slightly.

“It’s bitter like wine… but it’s not bad.” Rhitaas hummed, sinking into the glass slightly. “There’s lots of… _not wine_ tastes.” Haurchefant chuckled, understanding what the other was trying to say. “It’s like apple cider, kind of… more bitter.” The knight tried not to think about the steep price tag that had come with such a luxury so early into the season. It was nothing outrageous, his senses outweighing his brother’s suggestion, but it wouldn’t have done to bring something cheap to the table.

It was an indulgence, to say the least, and it paired well with the dinner that had been prepared. Rhitaas, gave leave of the conversation to him, tucking away into the meal. Haurchefant tried not to dwell on how long the other had probably been without a proper meal – if not a warm one.

As though entertaining his thoughts, Rhitaas looked from him to this own plate and flushed. “My apologies… meals like this are scarce, when you practically live upon the roads.” Haurchefant did not mean to make the other feel embarrassed, and he shook his head.

“No, no – by all means! I do not think less of you for such things, and if you still hunger, I am sure that no one would think less of you for asking for seconds.” The slight tension that had built up hung in the air for but a moment, until Rhitaas nodded.

“Thank you, I’m afraid it has been far too long since… well, since I have been at leave to take proper care of myself.”

“I noticed your fur looked sleeker, after your bath.”

“I brushed out my tail, I uh, will go ahead and apologize for the clump of fur. I tried to gather it up as best I could and dispose of it, but I’m afraid my tail sheds horribly.” Haurchefant felt a little bad for laughing at the other’s plight, but he had always been curious.

“So, you _do_ shed, I had always wondered since I laid eyes upon you.”

“Yes, though I shed far worse than some of the miqo’te I know. Though, their fur isn’t as… _full_, as mine.”

“Fluffy?”

“…Yes, _fluffy_.” During their laughter, Haurchefant took the opportunity to refill their glasses, humming thoughtfully to himself.

“Rhitaas?”

“Hmm?”

“I am glad, that you and I are able to spend time together like this. I wish it was under better circumstances that you came here, but I am glad nonetheless. It is a nice change of pace, surely. I’ve always wanted to show you my homeland, to fill your head of stories from my childhood, as you have regaled me with stories from all the places you have gone.” The man’s face lit up in a flush, and Rhitaas tried in vain to hide behind his glass. It was such an endearing quality of the other, the way his blush crept across his face when another waxed poetic about him.

Rhitaas rubbed his face, taking another sip of the wine in front of him. “I am glad as well.” His voice was nearly a whisper in the room, and the normally slitted pupils had widened as he inflicted upon Haurchefant a tender gaze that nearly stilled his heart within his breast. “After… after _everything_ in Ul’dah,” the miqo’te brusquely rubbed at his wrists where they had roughly bound him and drug him about by. A part of Haurchefant still balked at the way the other was treated, _after everything that he had done for Eorzea –_ he willed himself to calm down, looking back to the other. “I had not the slightest clue where I could go. All of my friends stayed so that I may escape, and I was suddenly no longer welcome. I could not ask for the Elder Seedseer to harbor me, knowing the strain it would place on her…”

“It would never have come to that, my dear.” Haurchefant interjected, meeting the startled lavender gaze of the other. “Even should Father have been forced to turned you away, I would have harbored you at Camp Dragonhead for as long as was necessary – you and the rest of the Scions. There is not a force on this star that would have it otherwise.” The intensity of his eyes, deep as the southern seas, bore into Rhitaas’ and he was forced to see the truth behind those words.

The Warrior’s eyes closed for but a moment, and Haurchefant knew this to be his way of searching for the right words, and so he allowed him his silence until he had found what he wished to say. “Thank you. It is… reassuring, to know I have a place I can return to, no matter what.” And his heart sings as he is gifted a tired, warming smile. It has made all this running about, all this diplomacy and nearly falling to his knees to beg his father to grant them succor, it has made all of it worth it, to have the other here, in his room.

“Here, maybe this will help raise your mood, I got you something while I was – “

“Haurchefant.”

And his eyes are drawn upward, glancing past the curtain of lashes, while Rhitaas stretches to take hold of his hand. He can feel the heat under the surface of his skin, and his heartbeat fills his ears as he feels that warm hand still his own.

“I’m glad you have taken such lengths to make me feel welcome in your home, however… the last few days have not been kind to me. I appreciate the wine, and whatever gift this may be – but, nothing would make me happier right now than a cup filled with your hot cocoa.” Such a simple request, and Haurchefant nearly laughed at himself, going to all these lengths to set up the perfect dinner, when in his heart he knew full well that the most perfect nights, had been the two of them and a mug between each.

“Of course, I’ll bring it to your room if you’d like to perform your nightly ablutions. As wont as I am to compliment you night and day, and any time between – you look as though you may tip out of your chair at any moment, and not just from the alcohol.”

The two shared their laughter, a precious gift that Haurchefant held dearly close to his heart. Parting from him was always a solemn affair, but now knowing how closely within reach the other was soothed his heart. While making their shared ‘dessert’, he found he was at liberty to add as many marshmallows to the cocoa, something he had been limited in at Camp Dragonhead (though, he would have given them all to Rhitaas, if it would make him happy).

By the time he had retrieved each mug and ascended to the Warrior’s room, the miqo’te was nestled into the thick blankets, and when Haurchefant entered the room with his drink, he could hear the distinct purring sound that the other let out. He doubted Rhitaas would get even a quarter of the way through his cup before sleep took him, but simply the sight of his ears slicked down and pupils blown wide as he curled around the warmth melted Haurchefant.

“Thank you.” Rhitaas sighed, staring longingly into the cup before taking a sip. “Sometimes, when the sun has set, and I decide to make camp for the night, I think to myself… ‘All I want, is a cup of hot cocoa’.” His eyes glance up to Haurche, and he hums, before amending. “And perhaps a friend.”

_Mayhap more than a friend?_

Haurchefant feels the words climb up his chest, but when he sees the exhaustion writ so plainly across the other’s features, he cannot burden him with such things, especially when all the other seemed capable of doing was swooning over the warmth surrounding him. So, he smiles, reaches out and scratches behind the other’s ear, right where the base meets his scalp, in the way he’s done so many times when he knows the other needs to relax, and he can feel the other’s purrs all the way from his chest.

“And now, you have both of those. But I believe the thing you need most, is rest.”

“Nah, hot cocoa is important.”

“Sleep is _very_ important.”

“Hot cocoa – _your_ hot cocoa, is important_er_.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” They laugh into their mugs, taking one last sip together before Rhitaas places his down on the end-table. Haurchefant takes this as his sign to leave, lightly flicking the tip of the other’s ear before they exchange their quiet ‘good night’s, and he finds himself shuffling back to his room. His heart is light, and he smiles when he catches his father’s eye, who seems happier than he’s seen him in a long time.

He sets his own cocoa down within his room, glancing back to the table now pressed back towards the wall, and the missing chair that had been moved along with it. He wishes he would be cuddling up with the other right now, but he cannot say that he regrets their time spent together tonight. And after all, they never knew what tomorrow may hold. Shedding his clothes was significantly less time consuming than doffing his armor, and when he finally slips beneath the covers, he realizes something:

Rhitaas’ apple tarts, his gift, lie forgotten by the table.

They would have been nice, with the hot cocoa, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next will be some (hopefully) better advice from Artoirel, after he finds out about Emmanellain's meddling.


	3. Divine Direction (and that of a Dragoon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some of Rhitaas' Free Company comrades, including one of my friends who got me into this rabbit hole in the first place. This includes some slightly religious themes, and a little bit of angsty pining.  
Edit: Fixed format issues.

Barely a fortnight had passed, and he found himself in the company of even more adventurers. Up to five of them, at any given time, considering this was the closest that they could get to Ishgard without actually being _able_ to get into the city. Haurchefant had long since become familiar with Rhitaas’ companions from his Free Company, the ragtag group that flitted in and out on a daily basis as Haurchefant served as a messenger.

He remembers the night that all five of them had drug themselves from the slush that had begun to accumulate outside his doorstep, the lalafell squawking about having been pushed by one of the miqo’te into a nearby snow drift. Once word had been sent that Rhitaas was okay, and _not_ a prisoner being tried for a crime that he did not commit, they had all clambered to his doorstep. First was the heavily-armed miqo’te woman, who leaned across his desk and _demanded_ to see Rhitaas, before one of the taller xaela reached over and plucked her off of the table.

This had been the first true introduction he had to the group, other than the stories that Rhitaas had gifted him time and time again, especially over the antics of the woman prior. One or two usually lingered around camp, helping around to pass the time, or heading out past the walls to try their hand against the local wildlife.

Today, he found that it was just the dragoon, the selfsame xaela man who had plucked the woman from his desk and offered a short word of apology on behalf of their ‘excitable’ friend. He wracked his brain for a moment, trying to sift through the barrage of names that he had been given when they had all first arrived.

Haurchefant actually felt a little bad, feeling as though he had been staring at the other for an eternity while trying to remember his name. So long, in fact, the man in question had turned to gaze at him, cocking a red brow in question. The knight took a step forward, resigned to having to confront the man, chewing on his lips for but a moment before trying his luck.

“Gladiolus?”

“That is indeed my name.” There was a bit of lip to the comment, and Haurchefant could only wonder where Rhitaas had gotten his thin edge of snark from. He had figured going to the other would enlighten him on a way to secure the other’s affections, considering that he and Rhitaas had trained together when they had first arrived in Gridania. It felt a little strange, to have to look up into the other’s face, half obscured by the helm he wore that was typical of dragoons.

“A fine name it is,” he countered back, and he could see that there was still that question lingering behind the other’s eyes, and so he sighed and brought his question to bear. “I find myself burdened with something as of late – and I fear I am woefully ill-equipped to combat such a thing.”

“I would think that knights of Ishgard would be more than capable to rally to defeat a beast, or any villain for that matter.”

“Tis not a foe that I find myself grappling with, but rather myself and the emotions I harbor.”

“Would this not be heresy?”

And Haurchefant stares at him for a long moment, confusion writ across his brow, before the au’ra motions to the scales and horns accenting his features. It takes a few seconds for his mind to catch decipher the other’s meaning, and once it hits home, he cannot help himself but to laughing.

“My apologies, friend – I did not mean… I have feelings for _another_ within your group.” Thankfully, Gladiolus laughs with him, and he is glad that he had not managed to offend the other. The man waves his hand, making plain that there were no ill-feelings after the little blunder.

“Another, huh? And pray, tell, who might this lucky individual be? I could not imagine it to be Nashu, after she had nearly saw fit to jump over your desk to get to you. Perhaps Mahrukh? He has a sweet face, I would not be surprised – he’s an awfully skittish one, however.” Haurchefant simply shook his head, and the au’ra pursed his lips as he continued to ponder before cracking one eye open, and a toothy grin split his face.

“I wouldn’t imagine it to be our dear Warrior of Light, now would it?” And the accusatory tone that the other takes leaves Haurchefant a little pink in the face, giving the man all the answers he needed. He leans easily against the stone at his back, crossing his arms in front of his chest while he regards the other. Part of him wants to go tell Nashu, just to stir the pot and see how the woman would react to such a thing. He imagines it would be quite entertaining, but with the way the knight looks at him, with such earnestness, he spares him the suffering that he knows that such a thing would bring on him.

“Alright, what do you want to know?”

“If you were in my shoes, what gifts would you give to convince them of your love?”

A tall order, he thinks. He has watched men and women alike throw themselves at the Warriors feet, leaving the miqo’te in an awfully awkward position as he tries to excuse himself and delicately ease them down to the inevitability of rejection.

“He’s a sentimental sort – I’ve watched him hang on to near-junk, simply because it was a gift. Maybe a locket, but something with value, if it means something to you, it’ll mean doubly to him.” No sooner had the man finished his sentence than a beautiful thought sprung to Haurchefant’s mind, and a sudden energy struck him where he stood. He nodded to the other, smiling widely.

“Thank you – I think I’ve got the perfect idea!”

He didn’t mean to simply leave him stood there, watching as the elezen rushed away to accomplish whatever errand he had set for himself, but Gladiolus chuckled under his breath regardless. He wondered if it would be a mercy to simply tell the other of Rhitaas’ feelings, that he had caught the other swooning over a hard drink back in Gridania. He decided to keep that little nugget of information to himself, pushing off of the wall and whistling through his chapped lips, a noise that the wind swept up, and tossed to the wind.

* * *

There is little shelter from the wind that howls through Ishgard, even in the Pillars. He had been thankful for the reprieve it had granted him on the short walk here, but as soon as he had stopped in front of the Vault, the gale had once more whipped into a frenzy. Even having withstood the cold for the entirety of his life, he cannot help the shiver that runs through him. Even despite the layers of cloth separating his skin from the frigid touch of the chain mail hauberk, he can still feel the heavy weight of the chill pressing into him. He has half a mind to wait inside, but his father’s advice comes to mind, and how much of a gentleman would he be if he simply retreated inside to the warmth of the hallowed halls, before greeting his companion?

So, he suffered, keeping himself warm with the thoughts of being joined by that smile that would warm him to the tips of his fingers. His thoughts being to wander, wondering if the other had even received the letter than he had entrusted to Honoroit. Emmanellain had been in the middle of suggestion another scheme to him when Artoirel had cut him off, sharply reprimanding the other, knowing that he had been set to do _something_ by their father.

Though he thought he had been saved from one set of advice, soon Artoirel was caught up in his brother’s plans. There had been little preamble to his comment, Emmanellain being the one who favored long-winded preludes to his posturing, but the eldest Fortemps son spared no time on sophistry.

“I have heard him utter Halone’s name, and invoke that of the Fury – why not speak of prayer and devotion through her Grace?” It was awfully traditional, but it had struck him as something to do. Ishgard was fervent in her worship of the Fury, and he doubted that the other had even stepped foot inside of one of Her churches in his life. And he _had_ been looking for an opportunity to show the other around Ishgard.

Movement is what startles him from his thoughts, as those pale locks round the corner, and both meet the other’s eye. Their smiles mirrored on each other’s faces, and while Rhitaas ascends the steps, Haurchefant opens up his arms to meet him. The other is cold, if the band of red across his nose is any indication.

“Come, come – it shall not do to keep you out in the cold.” He murmurs, pulling open the door for the man and ushering him inside. The sudden darkness and the air devoid of the howling wind leaves an odd sense of emptiness, before Rhitaas sneezes with all the grace of a behemoth and the moment is gone. The two lock eyes once more, and cannot help but giggle like school boys, and the look one of the friars gives Haurchefant does not go unnoticed.

Both of them have the decency to at least look a little chastised, which seems to do the trick as the man simply sighs and whisks away to whatever duties he had yet to accomplish. It’s in this low light that Haurchefant notices something, his gaze drawn to Rhitaas. Those eyes, the color of the pressed lavender, reflected what little light there was in the hall. He blinked, meeting Rhitaas’ confused look with one quite similar.

“Your eyes… I, uh, mean to say… they’re _glowing_.” Suddenly, the miqo’te blinks, and a purr-like laughter rumbles up from his chest, and Haurchefant nearly faints, swooning at the sound.

“My apologies, I thought you knew; what with the purring and other such things, we _are_ like cats, after all.”

“I would never mean to presume… That is quite fascinating, however. And you see better in the darkness because of it?”

Rhitaas nods, and the smile upon his lips is enough to chase away what remains of the cold. They both glance down the hallway, leading further into the Vault, and Haurchefant realizes with a start that he is the one who must take the lead, forgetting for a moment that it was Rhitaas’ first time within. He ushers the other towards the light spilling from the large windows above, and his face remains trained on the man’s, watching as the unsure tension slips away, and suddenly he is awe-stricken.

The large scale of the room is enough to make anyone feel small, and there is suddenly something vulnerable, in the way Rhitaas’ ears pull back at the sight of the vaulted ceilings and iron-wrought gates. He places a gentle hand on the other’s shoulders, leading him away from the main chamber. They were not there to attend a ceremony led by the Archbishop, and so the main floor remained empty, save for the clergy who passed through.

Instead, he maneuvered the pair into a room off of the main side corridors, and once more that awe-inspired look spreads across Rhitaas’ face. The visage of Halone, her marble visage carved firm and fair both, her spear raised to the ceiling, through to the sky above. Rhitaas cannot help himself as he steps to the center of the room, bathed in the crystalline glow of the stained glass above him. There is a radiance all his own, and Haurchefant startles, rubbing roughly at his face.

“Haurche?”

He wonders for the concern in the other’s voice, meeting his eyes and giving him a reassuring smile, as he steps past the pews on either side of them. For a moment, that regal statue behind them had come to life, stood before him in a prismatic spray, something ethereal and otherworldly.

“The light is simply a bit bright, they _do_ keep it awfully dark out there. I don’t have your special eyes to guide me, either.”

“But _I_ would guide you, if you but asked.”

He swallows hard at the comment, looking past Rhitaas and up to the statue of Halone, and silence grows between the two of them before the other clears his throat. He looks a little guilty, ears pulling downward as he darts his eyes away when Haurchefant’s attention falls upon him.

“Tis a little strange… is all. For as often as I’ve invoked the Fury’s name, to only now see her, is…”

“Do you feel anything? Do you… remember?” A sore subject, and the way Rhitaas shrunk away from him slightly let him know that it was still very much one. Without memories of a family, or even of the past beyond little more and a handful of years past, Rhitaas had wandered without purpose, without cause.

_“I never expected to be a hero. I barely thought I could be more than some no-name miqo’te.”_

Plucked from obscurity, from the pure happenstance of his unbelievable quirk, now the greatest name in all of Eorzea. Rhitaas’ pursed his lip, closing his eyes for a moment, and before the silence swallowed him entirely, he shook his head.

“No. There is nothing, strangely. Just… the here, and now.”

Haurchefant smoothed a hand over the other’s back. He knew not what to say, for such a heartbreaking ordeal and the constant of having to exist as a life half-lived was not a thing he could comfort. But maybe it had been for the best, to bring him.

“In times of great ordeals, or times when I believed to be at my wit’s end… I came here.” He whispered, his reverent tone drawing Rhitaas from his thoughts. His quiet steps bring him closer and closer to the statue, larger than life, and brushes a hand against it. He looks up, and from down at her feet he cannot see the stern furrow of her brow, but he knows the look that she levies upon her child in that moment. “I do not come as often as I did, when I was a young man troubled with the burdens of finding his place in a world that was ill-suited to him…”

He turns and looks back to Rhitaas, stretching out his hand and offering it to the other, who takes it gingerly, looking wholly unsure of himself. Haurchefant brings the other’s hand to the statue, pressing it there.

“I do not claim to be half as religious as most, but there is something that calms me, makes me believe that everything will be alright.” He turns his eyes from Halone to Rhitaas, watching as a complex emotion blooms behind his eyes, his fingers softly stroking over the marble. When Rhitaas notices him staring, he starts, blinking as he locks eyes with Haurchefant. “In such the same ways I believe in you…” Rhitaas’ face goes pink, and he stutters through his words, fighting to get them past his lips.

“You… You’re just being kind – I’m just trying to do right by the world, to protect the light… it’s what a Scions mean to do.”

_But you’re more than just a Scion. You are a beacon of hope to anyone who may draw close. Like a moth to a flame, I feel as though I cannot simply help but fly to your side._

He feels those words bubble in his chest, and his hand reaches out to seek out Rhitaas’ attention, the miqo’te looking up from where his chin had rested against his chest. _I have to tell him,_ part of him shouts, and he chokes on the words for a moment.

“Rhitaas, I…”

Rhitaas’ ear flicks, and Haurchefant hears the tell-tale simple chime of the linkpearl in the other’s ear. There is a part of him that rages at whoever it was, but a part of him knows that the other would not be bothered unless it was something that truly needed his attention. Rhitaas presses a finger to the linkpearl, exchanging a few soft words before nodding, and his expression softens with regret.

“My apologies, Alphinaud asked me to return to the manor as quickly as I am able.”

“Always being pulled in a thousand directions? Some things never change.” Haurchefant jokes, though, the distinct hurt in his chest twists like a knife as Rhitaas pulls away. “Please, go on without me. It has been far too long since I roamed in Her earthly halls.” The other nods, as much as he wishes that the other would walk with him, to see him off on his next journey.

As Rhitaas turns towards those heavy doors, to set off without the other, he hears Haurchefant gasp, and a hand grasps his arm. He cocks his head at Haurchefant, who fumbles through his pocket, procuring the little trinket that he had picked up earlier.

“Forgive me! I had very nearly forgotten – I have a gift for you.” And the curiosity on Rhitaas’ face melts away into a smile, and he shakes his head with a small laugh.

“I told you, you need not waste your gil on me.”

“It is not a waste.” He says so earnestly, as he holds out the locket for the other to take. The chain is simply, a study thing, made of gold and built to withstand constant jostling and jarring. The front of the locket is ornate, archaic carvings of snow drifting upon the ever-moving wind. He waits with baited-breath for the other to open it up, unease prickling at his stomach. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful… but, what does it say?” The other squints, tilts the locket this way and that, trying to decipher the words, and Haurchefant can’t help but laugh.

“It is ancient Ishgardian. I would have been quite surprised if you _were_ capable of reading it.” He teases, closing the locket and smoothing over the surface of it with his thumb. “It is a prayer of protection. I mourn every day in which you are sent off to fight man and beast, every day in which I may not accompany you – to raise my shield in your defense.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “This is so I may keep you safe, even in spirit.

“You clasp it to your armor and tuck the locket near your heart – so that the Fury’s spirit may reside there and grant the prayer strength.”

Rhitaas is quiet, and for a moment, Haurchefant wonders if he’s insulted the other, or overstepped his bounds. He mistakes the overwhelmed expression on his face for one of displeasure, and he stretches out a hand to try and comfort and mend imagined hurts, before the miqo’te snatches the locket from his hand. He secures it to his armor, opening up the prayer once more before tucking it beside his breast.

There is the quiet swell of tears that coats those lilac eyes, and Haurchefant is not prepared for the sudden armful of Warrior that he is gifted. He is shocked for all but a moment, before reciprocating the embrace. “You are too kind to me.” Rhitaas whispers to his chest, wiping his eyes to chase away the tears, smiling brightly at the knight. Haurchefant nearly echoes the thought, but it is too late, as Rhitaas pulls away, knowing he had already kept the others waiting long enough.

Haurchefant watches him go, just like he has so many times before, and just like all those times, the feeling of warmth that had spread through his chest begins to sour, as he wishes that he still held the other within his embrace. No sooner does his steps fade away, that Haurchefant hangs his head, closing his eyes and nursing the small pain that had begun to gather in his chest.

“I love you.” He whispers, lifting his head to look at the door where the other had left, wishing that he had managed to get the words out sooner. Saying them aloud had brought some comfort to him, but it still ached within him, and his heart felt as though it may burst with his love for the other. He turns back to the Fury, and he slips to his knees, bracing his elbows against the statue.

_“Blessed be they, those who stand before those wicked fangs and claws,_

_ Before the corrupt, the unholy and undeserving,_

_ Who do not falter, who bask in Her radiant light._

_ Blessed be the peacekeepers, the champions of the Just.”_

It was devotion, devotion to the knights who trained, ever vigilant, ever ready to defend their home against the threat of dragonkind. However, a different reverence filled him, as he thought of his Warrior of Light, his _Champion of the Just_.

_“Blessed be those, who stand against the swelling tide_

_ Who resist Dravanians, with their wicked eyes and hearts,_

_ Upon who’s blacken’d wings does deceit take flight,_

_ Blessed be those, who we have lost to the night.”_

His heart aches, to think of the other, pitted against Nidhogg’s hordes. It matters not to him, the wicked armor that strikes outward from his center, nor the biting lance at his back. His hands shake, and a tremble strains it’s way up his arms, and his head snaps up, looking up at Halone, and the heavens.

“Fury, may he ever walk in your light. Allow him to find respite in the moment of greatest need and deliver him back to us. Do not bless him unto your hallowed halls, allow Hydaelyn to keep him, until at last he has earned his rest.”

Only silence meets his ears, and he settles into a silence, breathing deeply to calm his shaken nerves, before rising. His back is tense from where he had remained strained, praying over the statue, and he gently massages the tightness away. He turns on his heel, wondering whether to return to House Fortemps, or to Camp Dragonhead, and nearly jumps out of his armor at the sight of another.

Charibert, with those piercingly pale eyes of his is staring at him over that hawkish nose. A wicked smile crests his lips, and Haurchefant couldn’t help the feeling of unease crawling up his spine. Some of the Heavensward unsettled him at times, but none did it with the frequency that Charibert accomplished.

“Oh – my apologies, _Greystone_. I did not mean to _frighten_ you.” The words drip from his painted lips with all the sarcasm and saccharine as he can muster, and Haurchefant fights to keep the wrinkle from appearing over his nose.

“Think nothing of it, Ser Charibert. I was simply lost in my thoughts.”

“Thinking of your little Hero, are you? Do not lie to me either,” His tone twisted darkly, and Haurchefant feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise. “I heard your little prayers.

“He faces strife and battle every day. There is nothing wrong with a prayer of protection, or is it folly for us to ask for her protection?”

Charibert’s eyes narrow, and Haurchefant wonders if he’ll snap at the bait, but the sour look that crosses Charibert’s face is gone as soon as it came, and he simply shrugs. He turns to head out the door, stopping at the threshold to toss a look over his shoulder.

“Do take care of your little _kitten_ – Ishgard is a big place after all. It would not do for our visitors to end up _colluding_ with the wrong sorts, now would it?”

The elezen does not deign to let him answer, simply stepping away and leaving Haurchefant to his thoughts, and a vaguely threatened feeling; personally, and for Rhitaas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and stay tuned for the next one - which will be some light-heartened shenanigans and a small adventure for our love-struck knight.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this please let me know! I already have the next chapter written and I'll be posting it sometime in the next few days, so please stick around and show your support if you enjoy!


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